


Satin in a Coffin

by RunWonderlandRun



Series: Satin in a Coffin [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, Mentions of Suicide, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunWonderlandRun/pseuds/RunWonderlandRun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he slept, Peter could still hear the screams of his family. He could still smell the burnt flesh and the boiling blood. At times, he could feel the fire roaring beneath his skin, and he would have to fight off the urge to claw out of his body. Peter remembered slamming his shoulder into the door, desperate to escape. He remembered his father’s blackened and bony hand grabbing his leg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are you dead or are you sleeping?

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is--finally

                They stuck him in a long term care home and fled. Laura cried and cried as she explained that she and Derek were leaving for New York. That they couldn’t bear to stay in Beacon Hills. Peter roared in his mind but he could do nothing except hear what remained of his family leave. Neither his niece nor nephew returned to visit. Peter was angry at first. He wanted to hunt them down, wanted to tear their heads off, to tear them limb from limb. But he couldn’t. So Peter healed.

                Not a day went by were Peter didn’t think of the people who burned him; who killed his pack with fire and laughter. Peter memorized their faces and their scents. He remembered their taunts. His rage fueled his healing. On the fourth anniversary of the fire, Peter began to move. He moved his feet and his hands. He breathed a little deeper. A few months later, Peter stood up for the first time in years. He looked out the window, his eyes flashing blue. He grinned.

                                                                                                --------

                Peter had three nurses who took care of him. One was an older woman named Agatha, who couldn’t care less about her patients. She smelled like roses and chemicals. Emily came around at noon. She was kinder than Abigail, but she didn’t stay long. Jennifer was different. Jennifer would often come to sit with him on her breaks. She was curious about him. Sometimes Jennifer would touch his scars as if she was touching a piece of art. She was perfect for what Peter had planned.  A week after standing up, he struck. As she was petting him, Peter sat up. To her credit, Jennifer only gasped. Peter let his eyes glow. Jennifer licked her lips and stepped closer. Peter smiled.

                It didn’t take long to seduce Jennifer. All Peter had to do was whisper promises of power and love for her to fall at his feet. Three months later, Jennifer sneaked him out of the home and into the preserve on the full moon. Peter ran and ran until he couldn’t run anymore. Though he didn’t go anywhere near the house, Peter could still smell the ash and decay. It made him sick. When they returned to the home, Jennifer shyly took his hand.

                “I want that,” she breathed, “I want to be like you.”

                Peter caressed her cheek and kissed her hair. His nurse smelt like medicine and electricity.

                “You can be,” he said, “But first…I need your help.”

                                                                                                --------

                Years ago, Peter met an interesting woman named Marceline; an emissary whose pack was slaughtered by hunters. In return, Marceline haunted their dreams and their days, until they all committed suicide. No one in the family liked her. The next time Jennifer sneaked Peter out of the facility. They went to her apartment, so that Peter could talk to Marceline in private. Somewhat bashfully, Jennifer ushered him into her.

                “If you need anything, just call.”

                “Thank you,” Peter said, squeezing Jennifer’s waist. Flustered, his nurse left him alone. Peter sat on the bed and called his friend. The phone rang three times.

                “Hello?”

                Peter grinned, “Hello, Marceline.”

                There was a pause, followed by laughter.

                “Oh Peter. This is a surprise. Last I heard you were as good as dead.”

                “What can I say,” Peter tapped his foot, “it appears I’m hard to kill.”

                Marceline hummed, “Tell me…what can I do for you?”

                “I want names,” Peter growled, “I want them to scream. I want them dead.”

                “Of course,” there was the sound of gun being cocked, “I’m in Oregon. I can be down there in two days.”

                Peter closed his eyes and breathed in deep, “Can’t wait.”

                                                                                                --------

                Marceline arrived on Friday night. Peter convinced Jennifer to stay at the home, explaining that his friend wasn’t a fan of strangers; but he promised to tell her all about the meeting. Peter had Marceline meet him at the Hale house. It seemed only fitting.

                “Look at you,” Marceline smirked, “Still as handsome as ever.”

                Peter flashed his fangs. His friend laughed. She sat down on the forest floor and looked around.

                “What do you know?” she asked.

                “Men—two of them,” Peter snarled, “they came and set the house on fire,” he paused, “they still live around here. I can pick up their scent around town.”

                “Hunters?”

                “No,” Peter licked his teeth, “not hunters. But they smelt of wolfsbane and mountain ash.”

                Marceline pursed her lips, “Some hunters have taken to hiring local criminals to get the job done. An extra precaution in case things go wrong,” she leaned forward, “do you know where they live?”

                “As a matter of fact,” Peter smiled, “I do.”

                It didn’t take long to decide what to do. Peter wanted the name of the hunter who hired those men, and the names of whomever else had been involved. Afterwards, he wanted Marceline to drive them insane, to push them to their limits before murdering them. Peter gave Marceline the address of one of the men.

                “Give me three days,” she stood up, “I should have all the information by then,” she started to walk down the dirt path but turned around, “are you going to let your niece and nephew in on your little plan?”

                Peter scoffed, “I might as well be dead to them,” he looked down at his scars, “they are to me.”

                Marceline left.

                                                                                                -------

                During the day, Peter was careful not to move. He was careful not to stare at anything in particular. If anybody knew of his progress, they would call Laura. Peter didn’t want his niece anywhere near Beacon Hills—at least, not yet.  Jennifer kept him company at night.  Sometimes, she would ask Peter to flash his eyes or grow his claws. She cooed and awed, and told him how she couldn’t wait to be a werewolf. Peter grinned.

                                                                                                ------

                When Marceline returned to pay him a visit, she was ecstatic. She danced around his room and kissed his cheek.

                “Oh Peter,” she breathed out, “Peter, Peter, Peter,” she knelt in front of him, “the gift you’ve given me…you have no idea.”

                “Who?”

                Marceline bared her teeth, “Argent,” she spit out, “Kate Argent.”

                Peter cracked his neck and closed his eyes. Every werewolf pack knew of the Argents. They were an old hunter family. Their legacy stretched centuries; both in Europe and in America. Peter met the matriarch, Ana, when he was a teenager. His mother had done some business with the woman. She smelled like poison and metal.

                “Do you want to know how she did it?” Marceline whispered in his ear, “do you want to know how she knew when to strike?”

                He nodded. Marceline stood up.

                “She seduced your nephew,” she sang, “promised him the sky and all the stars in it,” Marceline squealed, “and every time they were together”  she sighed, “Kate gave him a soda with a little something in it that made Derek sing like a canary.”

                Anger flowed through Peter.

                “And when she had all the information she needed,” Marceline moved behind him and touched his shoulders, “she hired two arsonists to set fire to your house.”

                Peter opened his eyes. Marceline laughed and moved away from him. He stood up and faced the window. He felt his claws coming in and out. He tried to remember any odd smells coming from his nephew. He tried to remember if he ever caught Derek in a lie months before the fire, but he could think of nothing. Then again, Peter thought, he never really talked to Derek.

                “I had no idea,” he panted, “I had no idea that a hunter was in Beacon Hills.”      

                “Nobody did,” Marceline turned to him, “but Peter...this is a great opportunity.”             

                Peter stared at her reflection in the glass. His friend’s eyes were dark.

                “I’ve been dying,” Marceline continued, “to bring down that family,” she rolled her eyes, “unfortunately, they’re…well protected.”

                “Are they,” Peter asked. His friend hummed.

                 “But you’ve given me the key to their downfall.”

                “I want them dead,” Peter growled, “I want her and all her family dead.”

                Marceline cocked her head, “Peter, I don’t think you understand,” she sat down and crossed her legs. She folded her hands, “You know how the Argents used to be revered by their kind?”

                Peter nodded.

                “Well,” Marceline smacked her lips, “they seem to have fallen out of favor in the last couple of decades. A lot of families would prefer if they would just,” she threw her hands out, “disappear.”

                “Marceline,” Peter twitched, “please get to the point.”

                “Ugh,” Marceline rolled her eyes, “Peter, we can do more than just kill the Argents,” she explained.”

                Peter frowned.

                “I want their blood on my hands.”

                Marceline looked straight into his eyes. Peter met her gaze.

                “Is that all you want?”

                He blinked.

                “Think about it Peter,” Marceline said, “Think real hard about what you want. I’ll be back tomorrow for your decision.”

                Marceline left, leaving Peter with his thoughts. He sat down on his bed and thought. He wanted the Argents dead. He wanted to tear through their flesh with claws and fangs. He wanted their blood in his hands, and their tears on the ground. Peter looked around his room, his fingers tapping against his knees.

                Five years—Peter had been in this facility for five long years. In those four years, neither Laura nor Derek had come to visit. He didn’t particularly care about his niece or nephew. Peter was never close to any of his sister’s children. What angered Peter was that Laura didn’t even try to help him. She didn’t try to figure out just how much damage he sustained. She didn’t even think of going to Deaton for help. All she did was stick him in a building, and ran off with her brother. This was the girl his sister trained to one day take over. The girl his family had cooed over when she was a baby.

                _…but Peter, this is a great opportunity._

                Long ago, the Argents had been worshipped by the hunter community. Anybody carrying that name would be given respect and information without a question. However, he recalled hearing his father talk about how the Argents started to fall from grace. How the hunters now wanted the Argents gone, because they were getting cocky, and sloppy in their missions.

                Hunters, like werewolves, did not want the public to know about the supernatural. They were just as secretive, and just as vicious as any creature in guarding their secret. The Argents were calling too much attention to themselves. They were leaving too many clues. Still, no hunter dared to go against or plot against them. The Argents, while small in numbers, still had power.

                _…She seduced your nephew…promised him the sky and the stars…_

                Talia met with Chris Argent five years before the fire. They didn’t meet at the Hale house. They met at a hotel conference room, outside the city. Deaton was there to keep the peace. Chris smelled of gun powder and wolfs bane. It made Peter itch. At the end of the meeting, it was Peter who escorted Chris back to his car. Chris kept looking at him, his hands hovering around his belt.  Peter stared straight ahead and sniffed carefully. Underneath the poison, he smelled a child.

_…And when she had all the information she needed…_

Peter didn’t just want the Argents dead. He wanted a pack. He wanted to be the alpha of Beacon Hills. True, the Argents might have fallen out of grace with the other families, but if their deaths pointed to a werewolf, they would hunt him down.

                _…she hired two arsonists to set fire to your house…_

                When he slept, Peter could still hear the screams of his family. He could still smell the burnt flesh and the boiling blood. At times, he could feel the fire roaring beneath his skin, and he would have to fight off the urge to claw out of his body. Peter remembered slamming his shoulder into the door, desperate to escape. He remembered his father’s blackened and bony hand grabbing his leg.

                _…think real hard about what you want…_

Kate Argent set fire to his house in the hopes of killing his entire pack, despite the fact that no Hale had ever hurt a human.

                _…think real hard about what you want…_

                Marceline worked wonders with dreams and nightmares. She could bring any fear to life.

                _…she hired two arsonists to set fire to your house…_

How easy it would be, for someone with so much blood on their hands to start seeing things; to start suspecting their own family.

Someone knocked, “Peter?” his nurse whispered, “Peter is she gone?”

                He stood up and opened the door. Jennifer stepped in, a smile on her face. She went to him, spreading her hands across his chest.

                “How did it go? Did—did you find out what happened?”

                Peter grinned and ran a hand down Jennifer’s cheek, “I did.”

                Jennifer blushed and leaned into his touch, “What are you going to do?”

                _When can I become a werewolf?_ Is what she was asking. Jennifer desperately wanted the bite. Peter had never met someone so frantic to become a werewolf.

                “Tomorrow, Marceline will be coming back.”

                “Again?” Jennifer screwed up her nose and shivered. She didn’t like Marceline. She said that Marceline scared her, but Peter could smell his nurse’s jealousy. She didn’t like that another woman was close to him.

                “I’m afraid it’s necessary,” Peter frowned, “after all,” he took a step closer to Jennifer, “if you’re ever to become a werewolf, we need her help, but don’t worry,” he took her hand, “she won’t be here forever.”

                Jennifer bit her lip and nodded, “Ok,” she looked around, “I think you need to get back into bed. My shift is almost over,” she opened the door and checked to see if anybody was close, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

                Sighing, Peter undressed. He looked at the scars running down his arm, chest and leg. He’s tried to heal them, but they remained. Peter knows he’s not strong enough to heal himself; not yet. Not until he becomes an alpha. After putting on the gown, Peter laid down on his bed. He covered himself with a blanket and stared at the ceiling.

                 … _set fire to your house…_

Peter closed his eyes and breathed. In a matter of months, he would be an alpha. He would have a pack to lead.

                … _set fire to your house…_

                He opened his eyes.

                _…set fire…_

Peter grinned.

                


	2. Now the blow's been softened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter needed to turn someone young. Adults were too set in their ways, to unpredictable to bite. No, Peter needed a young pack—teenagers. True, they were a bit hormonal and extremely moody, but they would be easy to mold. They would be easy to bond with; they would be easy to control.

                Time dragged on. Peter snuck glances at the clock all throughout the day, waiting for night to fall. When Jennifer started her shift, Peter sighed. His nurse quickly shut the blinds and locked the door. She turned to him, a smile on her lips and a blush on her cheeks. At times, Peter wondered why none of the other nurses grew suspicious of Jennifer’s obsession with him.  

                “Hello Peter,” she said, “were you able to sleep?”

                “A little,” he replied. Jennifer came to sit next to him, her shoulder bumping into his. Peter placed his hand on her thigh, and listened to her heart race. She was easy to please.

                “Marceline should be here soon,” Jennifer scowled. Peter chuckled and grabbed her hand, “I’ll try and keep our meeting brief,” his nurse bit her lip and nodded, “but do try and understand that she’s here to help us.”

                “I know,” Jennifer said. She lifted his hand and placed a kiss on his scars. Peter let her. He let Jennifer talk about her day, nodding when he was required. His eyes kept moving between the clock and the door. Eventually, Peter heard Marceline’s footsteps heading for his room.

                “She’s here,” he stared at the door. Jennifer let go of his hands and stood up to unlock the door. Marceline slipped inside. Her eyes sought out Peter’s. Her hand’s and lips twitched.

                “Jennifer,” Peter looked at his nurse, “if you don’t mind…”

                “Of course,” Jennifer responded. With her head lowered, she left Marceline and Peter alone in the room.

                “Did you think about it, Peter?” Marceline whispered. Her eyes darkened, “Did you think about what I said? Did you think about what you want?”

                “I did,” Peter licked his lips, “I want them dead,” he paused, a grin spreading across his lips, “but I also want a pack.”

                “Oh Peter,” Marceline sighed and hugged herself, “Peter, Peter, Peter…I knew you’d come to your senses,” she gave a squeal of happiness and bounced towards him. She kneeled between his legs, “just tell me what to do,” she laughed, “tell me what I need to do.”

                “I want them to suffer,” he stared at her, “I want them to know what it’s like to be burned alive” Peter felt his claws come out, “I want them to feel the flames and smell the smoke and burning flesh.”

                Marceline closed her eyes and tilted her head up.

                “I want you to destroy them.”

                She let out a breath. Peter felt something cold settle in his chest.

                “As you wish,” Marceline replied. Her voice sounded far away, “what about Kate? What about the Argents?”

                She stood up. Peter remained seated. Marceline ran over Peter’s scars. They still hurt.

                “There’s not many Argents left, is there?”

                “Only five,” Marceline touched Peter’s face, “only five Argents left.”

                Peter let out a breath.

                “I want a pack,” he said, “I want someone to care for; someone to be there for me,” he looked at Marceline, “If I kill Kate and her family, the hunter community will descend upon me.”

                His friend said nothing.

                “But what could they do,” Peter smirked, “if one of their own slaughtered her family?”

                Marceline laughed, “Nothing,” she exclaimed, “they could do nothing, because the monster in that, would already be dead.”

                She hugged him, “Oh, Peter…” she touched her forehead to his, “we’re going to have so much fun.”

                                                                                                ------

                Before Marceline left, she asked Peter to drink something.

                “Your experiences will become theirs,” the liquid looked clear, “they won’t be able to sleep and later on, they won’t even be able to function.”

                Peter drank. It tasted like rain and flowers. Marceline placed her hand on his chest.

                “It begins tonight,” she said, “You’ll need to sleep and let your demons out,” her eyes flashed, “don’t hold back.”

                She kissed Peter’s cheek and left. Seconds later, Jennifer entered, locking the door behind her. Peter got under the covers.

                “What’s going on?” his nurse asked, “are you feeling ok?”

                He smiled at her, “It begins tonight,” he patted the bed. Jennifer sat down, “If all goes well…in a couple of months, I’ll be the alpha” Jennifer held her breath, “and I’ll be able to turn you,” he said.

                “Oh!” Jennifer shook, “Peter,” a tear ran down her cheek, “do you mean it?”

                “Of course,” Peter lied. Jennifer threw herself at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tight. Peter fought the urge to claw her off. Instead, he ran his hands down her back, “now listen carefully,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m going to fall asleep,” Jennifer nodded against him, “I need you to leave, and make sure the door is locked. Do you understand?”

                His nurse pulled back. She looked confused.

                “Is this…part of—“

                “Yes,” Peter responded, “can you do that for me?”

                Jennifer nodded. She let go of Peter and let him get comfortable on the bed. She pulled the covers over his chest and then left the room. Peter heard the clink of the lock. He closed his eyes and waited.

                                                                                                ------

                _Peter opened his eyes. He was in the basement, surrounded by his family. He could see Talia sitting across from him, her eyes brown. There was no sound. He saw the children running around, playing. He saw his father and mother sitting on the couch, talking. Peter blinked._

_\---_

_Flames engulfed the basement. He saw Talia and his mother try to break the bars on windows. He heard the children’s laughter turn to screams. He saw his father rolling around the ground, his clothes on fire. Peter blinked._

_\---_

_He ran for the stairs. Flames licked at his feet. Smoke clogged his mouth but still Peter ran. He tried to open the door but it was locked. He slammed his shoulder against the door. The wood was hot. Peter blinked._

_\---_

_Something pierced his leg. Peter looked down. His father’s burning face stared back at him. Screaming, he tried to open the door but he couldn’t. Peter blinked._

_\---_

_The stairs groaned and then collapsed, plunging Peter back into the inferno. Peter blinked._

_\---_

Gasping, Peter arched off the bed. He looked around. He was in his room. He wasn’t in the basement. Swallowing, Peter calmed himself down. This was necessary.

                “Peter?” he heard Jennifer whisper, “Peter, I’m coming in, ok?”

                His nurse opened the door and stepped inside. She frowned at him.

                “Are you ok?” she didn’t move. Peter reached a hand towards her. Jennifer climbed into the bed with him. She rested her head on his stomach.              

                “I’m fine,” he stared at the door, “don’t worry; just a couple of nightmares,” he petted Jennifer’s head. His hand slipped down to her neck. Jennifer relaxed. He felt tired, yet strangely energized.

                “So,” his nurse ran her hand down his arm, “is this going to happen every night?”

                “I don’t know,” Marceline never explained what Peter’s role would be in bringing terror to those responsible, “maybe,” he looked down at Jennifer, “it might.”

                “But,” Jennifer lowered her eyes, “isn’t that…cruel?”

                He smiled at her, “It’ll be worth it in the end,” his skin felt burnt, “it’ll be worth it in the end.”

                                                                                                ------

                The nightmares continued. Each night, Peter was forced to relieve his family’s death. In the mornings, he’d wake up soaked in sweat, fangs piercing his lip, and claws shredding the sheets. Jennifer would replace the sheets and wipe the blood away before the end of her shift. Seven days after the first nightmare, Marceline arrived.              

                “How are you, Peter?”

                He chuckled, “How do you think?”

                Marceline smiled, “Well, you’ll be glad to know that I no longer require your nightmares,” she came to stand next to him, “they’re trapped in your memories now.”

                “Are they?” Peter asked.

                “You should hear their screams,” Marceline sighed and sat down next to him, “Myers is going to go first I think,” she mentioned, “the first night, he woke up shrieking. He stumbled out of his apartment and into the streets, yelling,” Marceline laughed, “he made quite a scene.”

                Peter smiled, “The others?”

                “Cracking oh so nicely,” she sighed, “Unger refuses to sleep anymore,” she gazed at Peter, “he jumps at every little noise. It’s beautiful.”

                “And…” Peter didn’t need to say her name.

                “Kate,” Marceline smiled, “the seed has been planted,” his friend assured Peter, “she’s already seeing wolves everywhere she goes. Already some hunters are talking about how the Argent Princess seems to be losing her mind.”

                “Is she?”

                “Honestly Peter,” Marceline scoffed, “don’t you trust me?”

                Peter nodded.

                “Good,” she said. Marceline looked toward the window, “do you want to see?” she asked.

                He grinned, “Do you have to ask?”

                                                                                                -----

                Their first stop was Myers, who declared the Hale fire an “accident”.  Peter stood by the side of the man’s apartment. He focused on the man’s heartbeat and breathing. He knew the exact moment when the man started to dream.

                “No,” the man cried out in his sleep. His heart raced. His breathing hitched, “Stop!” the man shrieked. Peter closed his eyes and leaned against the brick wall, “PLEASE!”

                The man woke up. His screams carried down the streets. Several lights turned on. Marceline let her head fall onto Peter’s shoulder.

                “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. Peter nodded.

                “The sweetest music I’ve heard in years.”

                                                                                                -----

                The next night, Peter and Marceline stood outside Reddick’s home. He drank and drank until he fell to bed—only to wake up minutes later, sobbing and blathering about smoke and fire. The other arsonist refused to sleep. Peter heard the man walking around, and muttering to himself. Sometimes, the man fell asleep for a few minutes—only to wake up with a horrifying gasp. Unger didn’t even try to sleep.  Marceline took Peter back to the facility before Jennifer’s shift ended. For the first time in weeks, Peter slept easily.

                                                                                                ------

                One of the nurses in the facility was the clerk’s neighbor.

                “I haven’t slept the entire night in a week,” Peter heard her say, “the man that lives next to me wakes up screaming every night.”

                “Really?” another nurse asked, “is something wrong with him?”

                “I don’t know,” Peter smiled, “he just…keeps screaming about fire, and burning. I saw him coming out of his place today—he didn’t look too good. He looked like he was going to faint.”

                Peter smiled.

                                                                                                ------

                Jennifer let Peter out at night. He would go to the men’s houses to hear their cries for mercy, and their screams of terror. Sometimes, his nurse would go with him. She’d cling to Peter, and laugh at every scream. Jennifer found it amusing. Peter liked going alone. The screams of the guilty men drowned out the screams of his family.

                                                                                                ------

                A month later, Marceline came to visit again. Her eyes were filled with a strange light, and her voice sounded as if she was drowning.

                “The Argent princess is falling,” she told Peter, “she’s breaking, Peter. Even her father is getting worried.”

                Peter said nothing. Marceline kissed his cheek, “It won’t be long now,” she promised him, “not long at all.”

                                                                                                -----

                Not long after Marceline visited, Jennifer practically ran into Peter’s room. Her eyes were bright and a newspaper was clutched in her hand.

                “Peter,” she laughed, “Look!” she shoved the newspaper into his face, “Peter look what happened!”

                On the front page was the headline, “ **Known arsonist kills himself** ”.

                _Michael Reddick, age 34, was found dead in his apartment. The police have ruled his death a suicide. Neighbors of Michael stated that in the past month, Michael suffered from horrible nightmares and hallucinations…._

“This,” Jennifer sat by him, “this is good, isn’t it?”

                “Yes,” Peter closed his eyes, “yes it is.”

                When Jenifer left, Peter closed his eyes and imagined the man’s death.  

                                                                                                -----

                Hours later, Marceline arrived. She looked at the newspaper.

                “You’ve read the news.”

                “I have,” Peter inhaled, “it was very…informative.”

                “Unger is next…he’s not doing too well,” Marceline paused, “You know…I have a feeling that Myers is going to come forward,” Peter blinked.

                “Confess, you mean?”

                Marceline nodded, “He’s been shouting more and more details lately. His neighbors are starting to suspect something,” she grinned, “that could work in our favor,” Marceline tapped his nose, “Kate is slowly losing her mind, Peter. She’s started to look at her father as if he was a wolf. The police knowing she was involved in the murder of your family—that can only help.”

                “Where is Kate?” Peter asked. He knew she’d have to be close by.

                “About three hours, with the rest of her family,” she grinned, “they have no idea about what awaits them.”

                “Neither did mine,” Peter said “I prefer it that way.”

                                                                                                ------

                All that was left to do now was wait; wait until the clerk came forward to accuse Kate. In the meantime, Peter started to think about the future. He thought about what he would do once everyone responsible for the fire was dead and buried. He wondered if he would even have to lure Laura and Derek back. Would Laura and Derek come running, if they hear the news about Kate?  Peter doubted that. Derek and Laura were cowards. No matter what Talia had said, Laura was not meant to lead a pack.

                It would be a while longer before Peter was an alpha, but he needed to plan now. For a second, he contemplated actually turning his nurse, but he decided against it. Jennifer was convenient, but Peter would never want her to be part of his pack. She was too volatile—too dependent on Peter and his praises. Jennifer would only cause him problems. Peter needed someone to care for; someone who needed him. He needed someone to love; someone that would love him back.

                Peter needed to turn someone young. Adults were too set in their ways, to unpredictable to bite. No, Peter needed a young pack—teenagers.  True, they were a bit hormonal and extremely moody, but they would be easy to mold. They would be easy to bond with; they would be easy to control.

                                                                                                ------     

                Two days later, Peter smelled magic. He smelled herbs and woods. He took a breath, and his eyes flashed in recognition. The magic belong to Deaton—the Hale’s emissary. Peter had forgotten all about him. He could smell the man right outside the facility. Tense, Peter waited for Deaton to come and see him, but the doctor never came inside. He just stood outside the building for a few hours before leaving.

                Peter felt on edge. Deaton knew what was going on; he knew that Peter was behind it. When Jennifer came into his room, Peter asked her for a phone.

                “I need to call Marceline,” he told her, his lips curled back from his teeth, “I need to talk to her, now.”

                Jennifer handed him her cell phone and left but before Peter could dial, Marceline came into the room.

                “You smelled Deaton, didn’t you?” she asked Peter.

                “I forgot about him,” he shook his head, “I can’t believe I forgot about him. Of course he would pick up on this. I’m surprised it took him this long to come forward.”

                “But he hasn’t come forward,” Marceline said, “all he did was stand outside,” she grinned, “he’s not a threat to us.”

                Peter stared at her, “What did you?”

                “What are we going to DO, you mean,” Marceline clapped her hands together, “I have a plan.”

                “As much as I would like to kill him,” Peter sighed, “I don’t think that be wise; I know he has a sister and other—“

                “We’re not going to kill him,” Marceline clicked her tongue, “that would bring too much attention.”

                “Then what are we going to do?”

                Marceline bared her teeth, “We’re going to bind him to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working out where the story will go, but the idea is coming together. Really impatient to get to the part with Scott and Stiles but we'll get there.


	3. Our laughter is your coffin ever after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton stood outside the facility every day until the full moon. He never came inside and he never spoke. He just stood there. Deaton’s magic soaked into the building. It messed with Peter’s control, and he had to concentrate harder so as to not shift in front of his nurses. It was harder at night. Jennifer had to change his sheets every morning before leaving.

                They spent the entire night coming up with a plan for Deaton.  Jennifer came and went, glaring at Marceline. Peter soothed her by caressing her arm, or kissing her cheeks.

                “When are you going to kill her?” Marceline asked when Jennifer left. Peter laughed.

                “After I become the Alpha,” he replied, “I need her at the moment, unfortunately.”

                Marceline chuckled, “She’s jealous of me,” she sang, “you always were a lady killer.”

                Peter laughed, “I’ll be glad to get rid of her,” he turned serious, “when are we going to bind Deaton?”

                “As soon as possible,” Marceline frowned, “We need to get tie him to you before Myers comes forward.”

                “You really think he’s going to turn himself in?”

                “I know so,” Marceline nodded, “the man is holding on by a thread. I’m surprised he lasted this long to be honest. But back to Deaton…”

                “Talia trusted Deaton,” Peter frowned, “he’s smart, but he’s very predictable,” he thought, “he’s going to wait until the next full moon. He’s going to wait for me to go out into the woods. He’ll bring with him mountain ash and mistletoe. He’ll bring with him a staff or a blade,” he looked at Marceline, “he’ll try to trick me into a trap.”

                “And then,” Marceline smiled, “he’ll try and kill you.”

                “I’m not sure of that,” Peter said, “then again, I don’t know what other choice he would have…” he smiled, “Tell me Marceline…how good are you with a bow?”

                                                                                                ------

                Deaton stood outside the facility every day until the full moon. He never came inside and he never spoke. He just stood there. Deaton’s magic soaked into the building. It messed with Peter’s control, and he had to concentrate harder so as to not shift in front of his nurses. It was harder at night. Jennifer had to change his sheets every morning before leaving.

                                                                                                -----

                On the night of the full moon Jennifer let Peter out through his window. She begged to go with him but Peter convinced her to stay at the facility.

                “It’s not safe,” Peter said, “you might get hurt.”

                “I don’t care,” Jennifer grabbed his cheeks, “I can help—I know I can help. Just tell me what do to.”

                Peter closed his eyes and tried not to snarl. He could feel the pull of the moon in his bones. He swallowed and forced himself to calm down.

                “I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Peter reasoned, “besides,” he kissed both her hands before removing them from his face, “I need you here to cover for me.”

                Jennifer bit her lip and nodded, “Ok just,” she breathed out, “just—just come back to me, ok?”

                “When don’t I?”

                                                                                                -----

                Peter ran—he ran toward the woods. He ran toward his house. He ran toward Deaton. He could feel the man’s magic in the air. It stung his eyes and coated his mouth with dirt. Peter growled. He could hear the leaves and branches break beneath his feet. He could see his breath, despite the warm weather. Half way to the house, Peter started to hear Deaton’s heartbeat. It was calm and steady. Peter ran faster.

                Deaton stood in front of the porch. He almost blended into the ruins of the house. Peter stopped a few feet away, panting. He grinned.

                “Alan,” Peter sighed, “how nice to see you.”

                “Peter,” Deaton said, his voice flat. Peter could hear him shifting. He could hear vials of glass tapping against each other, “I read about Michael in the newspaper.”

                “Did you?” Peter asked. He saw Deaton’s jaw twitch. Peter licked his lips.

                “Yes,” Deaton took a small step forward. Peter didn’t move, “Peter…” he kept walking. Peter let him, “this is dangerous.”

                “Is it?” Peter cocked his head, “I don’t see how,” he smiled, “I’m not the one who killed him; he did that all by himself.”

                “With your help,” Deaton sighed, “and it appears that a couple of other men have also been suffering from nightmares.”

                Peter grinned, “Do they?” he heard the rustle of leaves to his right. He smelled flowers and steel. Marceline, “they should really see someone about that.”

                Deaton blinked. His hand clenched something. Peter still didn’t move. He smelled mountain ash and wolfs bane. He licked his lips.

                “I can’t let you do this Peter.”

                “Let me do what?” Peter said, “I’m not doing anything, Deaton.”

                The smell of mountain ash intensified. Peter’s eyes flashed. He curled his hands into fists. He waited. Deaton shifted. Peter blinked, and then he was surrounded by pain. Grunting, he fell to the ground, his claws digging into the earth. He tried to move forward, but the ash wouldn’t let him. He took a breath. Wolf bane coated his tongue. Peter gagged.

                “You know,” Peter panted, “you know what they did,” Deaton didn’t say anything, “you know who they are,” Deaton remained silent, “they killed my pack,” Peter looked up at him, “they killed Talia.”

                The man glared at Peter.

                “She tried to save us,” Peter continued, “she tried to break down the bars but she couldn’t,” Deaton vibrated, “the eclipse wasn’t over yet. She couldn’t do anything.”

                “That—“ Deaton looked away. Peter could hear his heart racing, “Talia wouldn’t have wanted you to do this.”

                Peter laughed. He picked up Marceline’s footsteps, “My sister never liked how I did things,” he coughed, “she was too soft.”

                Deaton opened his mouth but no sound came out. Peter heard Marceline getting ready. He continued.

                “She should have realized what was going on,” he bit out, “she should have known something was wrong.”

                _Keep him there_ , Marceline whispered to him from across the forest, _keep him there_

                He stared at Deaton. The man was glaring at Peter. His hands shook. Peter could feel the ground beneath him quivering. He smelled mint and rotting flesh. He snarled at Deaton.

                “Face it,” he chuckled, “Talia wasn’t the alpha everybody thought her to be.”

                Thunder raced through the woods. Wincing, Peter covered his ears. Deaton raised one hand in the air. His face was blank but his eyes seemed to glow.

_Duck_ , Marceline whispered. Peter listened.

                The ground beneath him went still. The forest grew quiet and the light around them dimmed for a second. And then, the earth came to life.

                Roots shot up from the ground like metal spikes, trapping Deaton. The man shouted and fell on his back. The roots slithered over him, pulling the man into the ground. The mountain ash surrounding Peter vanished, as did the wolf’s bane. Taking a deep breath, Peter stood up and looked at his pack’s emissary.

                Deaton’s body sunk into the ground. Peter closed his eyes and raised his head to the sky. He heard Marceline jump from her perch. He listened as she walked toward them, the leaves and branches moving out of her way. The air smelt of honey of ash.

                “You didn’t think I’d come here alone, did you?” he asked the struggling man, “I’m not that stupid, Deaton.”

                Marceline came up to him. She looked drunk. She kneeled beside Deaton, her eyes toward the sky.

                “It’s almost time,” she said, her voice echoing in the quiet of the forest, “almost time.”

                “Are you going to kill me?” Deaton asked, his voice calm. Peter clicked his tongue and shook his head.

                “Of course not Alan,” he kicked the man’s foot, “I know about your sister. I know that if any harm should come to you, she’ll intervene,” he bent forward, “so no—I’m not going to kill you.”

                “Almost,” Marceline repeated, her voice quiet, “almost.”

                Deaton stared at him. His eyes were twitching, “You want to be the alpha,” Deaton said. Peter smiled.

                “Yes,” he responded, “but that’s not all I want,” Peter ran his hand over the roots holding Deaton down, “Do you know who started the fire?”

                “Those men you’ve been haunting?”

                “They set fire to the house, yes,” Peter said, “but they were hired by somebody,” he kneeled beside Deaton, “they were hired by Kate Argent.”

                Deaton’s eyes widen.

                “Yes,” Peter nodded, “Kate Argent—daughter of Gerard Argent,” his eyes flashed blue, “the man whom you and Talia wanted to give another chance to,” he snarled, “the man who both of you knew that killed innocent packs before,” he grabbed Deaton’s neck, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Gerard sent Kate to kill us personally.”

                “We,” Deaton coughed, “Talia didn’t want a war,” he moved his head to the side, “there was a risk that—“

                “She was soft!” Peter growled in Deaton’s face, “she was weak and because of that, she and my family burned.”

                Marceline gasped. She touched the roots holding Deaton down. They came back to life, “It’s time,” she sang, “Peter, it’s time, it’s time.”

                Peter nodded. The roots forced Deaton onto his stomach. Marceline turned the man’s head away, exposing the back of his neck. She grabbed a bottle from her jacket and poured the liquid over Deaton’s neck.

                “Pierce him deep,” Marceline looked back toward the sky, “bind him.”

                Grinning, Peter lifted up his right hand, his claws extended, “Think of this as penance,” he told Deaton. He brought his hand down and buried his claws in Deaton’s neck. The man let out a scream. Peter’s vision went white—

                                                                                                -----

                “Wake up,” someone was stroking his cheek, “Peter wake up,” they laughed, “wake up, wake up, wake up…”

                He opened his eyes. Marceline looked down at him, smiling. He blinked. Peter turned his head to the side. Deaton was laying a couple of feet away from him. Blood trailed down his neck and into the ground.

                “He’s bonded to you,” Marceline sat down next to him. She stared at Deaton, “he can’t do anything against you, or your future pack,” she sighed, “his tongue, his eyes, and his abilities are yours to use or tie down.”

                Peter sat up. His eyes remained on Deaton. He could feel the man trembling. He grinned.

                “Alan,” the man didn’t look at him, “I want you to go home; I want you to go home and take a shower,” Deaton didn’t move, “I don’t want you to tell anybody about this. Is that clear?”

                Deaton didn’t say anything, “Is that clear?” Peter asked. Alan slumped on the ground and nodded his head,

                “Yes,” he whispered, his voice broken, “it’s clear.”

                Marceline helped Peter stand up. Deaton crawled forward, away from the dead roots lying across his back and shoulders. He didn’t look at Peter or Marceline. They left him lying in the dirt.

                                                                                                --------

                Peter could feel Deaton in the back of his mind. The man’s presence felt and smelt like smoke. The first couple of days, Alan tried to break the bond. He felt Deaton try to cut Peter out of his mind but nothing worked. Eventually, he stopped trying.

                                                                                                -------

                Days later Peter heard the nurses talking about Myers.

                “Is it true?” one of them asked, “About your neighbor?”

                “Yes,” another said, her voice hushed but excited, “It’s true! He went to the police a couple of days ago and confessed to covering up the Hale fire.”

                “Oh my God,” he could feel one of the nurses looking into his room, “he had something to do with that?”

                “Yea, he helped cover it up. You know that guy who killed himself a couple of weeks ago? That Arsonist? Apparently, he had something to do with it too!”

                “Oh my God.”

                Peter smiled.

                                                                                                -------

                Jennifer spent most of the night with him. She brought him cheap champagne to celebrate Myer’s confession.

                “Everything is perfect,” she sighed, her pulse racing. Peter played with his glass. The champagne was too sweet. Jennifer laced her fingers with his. Marceline told Peter that Kate was on the run but she couldn’t hide forever. Soon enough she would run back to her family; back to Gerard.

                                                                                                ------

                The nurses still talked about Meyer, though they tended to whisper around his room. Peter found it funny. A couple of days after Meyer confessed he died in his cell of a heart attack. The next day, the other arsonist crashed his car straight into a tree.

                “Everything is coming together,” Marceline laid down on the floor. Her face was flushed and her eyes were fever bright.

                “It won’t be long now,” she turned toward Peter. Her lips and mouth were a dark red, “Kate is on the run. People won’t stop talking about her—Argent the Arsonist,” Marceline sighed, “but she’ll be back. Daddy might be upset with her, but she’ll come back to him—she’ll come back to her family and then—“             

                “I’ll kill them,” Peter smiled at her, his teeth sharp. Marceline smiled and closed her eyes.

                “Yes.”

                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late. This chapter fought me like nobody's business and I've started to get more hours at work which, yay but at the same time boo. Next chapter, Laura and Derek and lured back to Beacon Hills.

**Author's Note:**

> This Peter is just a little more sane and with more of a plan in mind. Also, I always imagined Peter as that kid who wants to have something pretty and shiny, and wants to love it, and does...but he still breaks it. FAIR WARNING--there will be NO HAPPY ENDING. I kid you not. This series just...no happy endings. Except for Peter. Also, Scott and Stiles aren't gonna show up for for a while. Peter needs to, uh, tie up some loose ends first.


End file.
